Drunken Heartlessness
by Kudo Willow
Summary: Grimmjow is a drunk. A killer. A criminal. Possessive. Over and over again Shiro falls for him. And yet he hates him. Hates Grimmjow and his cruelty so damn much. But Shiro can't pull himself away. He accepts the abuse and the torture. And for what? In his hopes to one day see the brute change? Rated M for strong sexual content and bad language. Grimmjow/Shirosaki. Multi-chapter.
1. Hollow Inside

******_Bleach © Tite Kubo_**

**Summary-**

Everything's a game to Grimmjow. He is a violent drunk. A killer. A criminal. Possessive. Over and over again Shiro falls for him. And yet he hates him. Hates Grimmjow and his cruelty so damn much. But Shiro can't pull himself away. He accepts the abuse and the torture. And for what? In his hopes to one day see the brute change?

**Warning: **Strong sexual content and vulgar language. Violence, implied abuse, yaoi, dark themes and other such disturbing stuff. This will be a multi-chapter and yes, this chapter contains smut.

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**.I.**

Watching himself fall to the floor again.

How amusing, it seemed, for the figure opposite him. A wondrously handsome man with the delicate features of a felinesque devil, hair crowning his head in a spiked cerulean fashion, accompanied by oceanic precarious eyes. He was such a fine looking individual. So kind he looked. He even flashed the women at the bar one of those welcoming, masculine smiles that reflected a man with a heart of gold.

But he didn't have heart of gold. Oh, he was far from it. Under the surface there was a murderer, a drunken killer and savage brute that wanted nothing more than to devour you and rope you in with his beautiful features and fool you into thinking that he wanted you for the sole reason of the investment of love. His appearance was a lie. Everyone about him, actually, was an outright lie. If he was a canvas then he was painted in luscious colors yet tainted by the foul bitterness of the image itself. He, as a canvas, would probably form the image of the devil himself. For he was a devil, in every respect. A blue devil masquerading as something that he was not.

Shiro collapsed this time. Bare legs quivered under him as the taller male pulled out and spared him no reach of sexual satisfaction and left him hanging, Shiro's knees buckling and his body trembling vigorously from the rough treatment of his form. As the other man halted his thrusts and then stepped back from him it then left Shiro with a staggering pain that made gravity coerce him to the floor. He landed in a heap. A stinging agony seared in his spine where he had been clawed at like an animal and his collar bone burned with the affliction of a bite mark which brandished the other's ownership to his sore flesh.  
He could smell the distinct odor of alcohol radiating from the other male's clothing, the man towering over him and fixating him with those predatory eyes as if he was prey and nothing else. Looking down at Shirosaki as if he was little more than a mere plaything to be toyed around with. Shiro was his entertainment for the night, to be knocked around and fucked and then thrown aside once he had lost his use.

This was how things had always been. Of course Shiro had tired of it, but there was essentially nothing that he could do. The ruthless man that was Grimmjow Jaegerjaques had an unbending will and such threatening authority that no one dared defy him. He was living fear. Whenever Shiro tried to stand up to him it only earned the paler male a beating, a defiant fuck, a hurling hit to the head and a very vulgar array of insults. There was no changing Grimmjow, and no escaping him either. Particularly, like now, when he was drunk. The alcohol was the fuel for which Grimmjow became violent and it inspired all kinds of merciless behavior from the hulking plethora of walking strength. What didn't make Shiro feel any safer was that Grimmjow was a killer and a man of utter criminality; dangerous, daring and armed with a cruelly perceptive mind. The guy dabbled in drugs, drink, likely performed the local murders on the news, and was in essence the very being of impetuosity. The ways of how he avoided getting locked up in some distant prison puzzled Shiro deeply. He somehow evaded getting caught.

"Ya jus' gonna lay there?" Came Grimmjow's slurred tone, words tweaked with the audacity of drink. Drunkenness always seemed to distort his voice more than how Shiro's own was.

"'M gettin' up, 'm gettin' up," he repeated, aware that not answering to the drunk would earn him a secondary clout if he showed no acknowledgement.

Grimmjow was strangely able to keep himself looking well kept and his formal suits were always straight and tie perfect despite his mind being contorted by the drink and hardly being able to stay upright on two legs. Jaegerjaques always dressed well contrary to his roguish nature. He flaunted business clothing on his drunken nights. Sleek black suits and expensive tailored ties with white shirts. Grimmjow almost looked respectable. But that was on the exterior. And on the outside, as Shiro knew better than anyone else, Grimmjow could pose as anything he wanted to be.

What was actually happening here was that Grimmjow was in the midst of recovering from his latest glass of tequila and un-gracelessly humping and then proceeding to fuck Shiro against a brick wall at the back of a night club by demand.

It really wouldn't have looked like abuse to anyone else. The beating and the bruises were well sealed and Shiro had gotten to the point that the physical torture which Grimmjow ravaged on him no longer hurt anymore. Lord knows how the destructive damage that the brute dealt never seemed to get noticed by anyone. Shiro did his best to hide it but his porcelain pallor often revealed even the faintest of scrapes and reddened scrawls. Though he had been asked on occasion if he was being knocked around, Shiro denied it, claiming that he had fallen down the stairs or accidentally harmed himself by walking into an object.

The only thing defining what Grimmjow did as a sexual activity and what separated it from rape was also that Shiro had developed a lusting for the painful pleasure and, due to having to tolerate it, derived a deranged love of Grimmjow's bodily interactions. In fact, being used as a sexual object had become routine. Shiro had been a virgin before he had met Grimmjow and when their relationship had been in early stages the brute had fooled him with various means of passionate love making that had stolen away his innocence and prepared the pale male for the real side of Grimmjow that performed abusive and harsh, unrelenting sex. Being the drunk's toy for so long had almost made him shape a sense of immunity for it.

"_Strip._"

A pause. Then a hesitant and shaky breath was drawn, Shiro already half bare with visible orchid legs showing. But there was no objecting to the other's instructions and his drunken ruler was not one to be delayed unless Shiro was asking for another burst of easily-induced violence. There was only one advantage of the outcome of this and that was Shiro's inevitable pleasure. Having Grimmjow inside him was something that, much to Shiro's grudging dislike, he would enjoy.

The fabric adorning his upper body was detached and strung at his feet, Shiro untying the intricate laces that formed somewhat of a corset-like garment beneath his outer jacket. He did so with haste and kept one cautious eye on the swaying figure opposite him as he threaded slender tips through the bindings of his waist confining outfit. Soon clothing had pooled at his feet and he was clad in nothing but the coldness of the air.

But Grimmjow wasn't happy with the exposure of his naked body until he had Shiro shivering and pressed between the warmth of his chest and the icy surface of the wall. His own formal dressings had transformed from business-like to stark bare within the passing moments and the predator of a man was already cornering his prey to the base of the wall to initiate some kind of performance from the smaller male.

Whimpers were dragged from his vocal chords as Shiro was brutally shoved into the brick of the wall and discolored skin was scythed by the gruff surface as the stone tore at his paled exterior. It wasn't the collision that had ripped out his defenseless sounds however, the muffled growls and fierce clawing of hungry nails protruding into his flesh causing the despaired noises. As usual his partner was raring to go. Tanned hands glided swiftly over the sculpture of his torso and invaded the flesh of Shiro's hip bones while Grimmjow scavenged for any sensitive areas that he could find.

A lavish wetness of a hot tongue lapped a path over the shell of his ear, sharp canines teasing the skin of his lobe and followed by sucking at the curve of his jaw for a brief moment. Shiro had to admit that this behavior was extremely stimulating but he knew damn well that this was all to melt him down and make him surrender to the nearing penetration. Deceptive encouragement.

The raptorial treatment was then enforced as Grimmjow swirled a tongue over the column of his neck, proceeding to embed teeth into the velvet of his bruise tainted flesh and gracing him with a possessive bite on the throat. This clenching of teeth stifled an outcry from Shiro, who desperately restrained himself from screaming too high for fear of drawing unwanted attention. Not that the drunk was aware of his suffering of course. The controller never was.

Two sudden fingers were then snaked into Shiro's mouth and he guessed that this was going to serve as a weak lubricant to soften the entrance into his body next. But it wasn't for Shiro. It was only to ease to experience for the drunk. Because Shiro's comfort was a falsehood in these situations. Grimmjow dampened his fingers with the assistance of Shiro's azure tongue and the sucking of his whetted lips as he smeared saliva over the fingers in his mouth. Then Grimmjow withdrew his smothered fingers and - this part was never painless nor pleasant - caved his fingers straight into the stretched flesh of Shiro's bared opening. Despite the rush for the sex Grimmjow always made the lathering of Shiro's insides a vital point.

All too soon was that over and then Shiro was slammed violently into the brick again. Grimmjow traced a pattern along the slope of his abdomen and then firm hands steered him by the hips as he holstered the pale one upwards and, with Shiro bracing himself and knowing that lack of suitable lubricant would make this severely painful, was delved into and entered.

The devil's face was unseen as Shiro gasped and let piteous moans escape his throat, lashing obsidian painted nails into the spinal chords of Grimmjow's back as he eased out a helpless screech from the sheer pain of the intrusion. There was maddening pulsing in his lower body as he scrambled to keep himself propped upright and scratched recklessly at the other's back. Nails scrabbled at the drunk's muscles with infuriating detestation combined with sadistic appeasement. God, he hated him. Hated him so much. And yet he loved this.

Ramming into Shiro over and over, continuous bucking and thrusting paired with the deliverance of harsh pounding in and outwards of Shiro's body was done as Grimmjow buried himself deep inside and practically fucked away his alcoholic consumption. Relieving himself by means of tearing in and out of Shiro's body. Because that was all Shiro was in the hands of the devil. A tool. A toy to be used at the brute's disposal. The attainment of Grimmjow's temporary satisfaction. And this was how it was. An endless cycle.

Coarse groans were shed from the smaller male and his drunken boyfriend inflicted deep thrusts between throaty grunts and repetitive pushes as he bounced Shiro on the heat of his shaft. The faligious pain was easily endured by Shiro though, being used to such actions, and the muscles of his insides curdled and stretched in disfigured contractions as he suffered the sensations that made it seem as if he was being internally torn apart.

"G-Grimmjoww... Shouldn' ya be h-headin' back now?" He choked out, the movements jolting his figure about and making his vocal voicing quite the struggle.

There was an angry snarl as if he was an animal when Grimmjow was spoken to, as if Shiro's words were disturbing his activity. But nonetheless there came a reply. Slurred. "Sh-hut it," he hissed. _"No._"

Deciding that conversation was pointless in the face of a drunken Jaegerjaques, Shiro steadied himself as he felt heat twist inside his lower body and coil like a simmering spiral in the depths of his stomach. He was approaching an orgasm and being allowed to experience it this time.

Grimmjow's thrusts gradually elicited the achievement of it, and Shiro moaned out the other's name with a sort of victorious tone of voice as his muscles clenched and stung from the austere movements of the man interacting with him.

Observing as white fluid began to trickle from the tip of his aching erection, Shiro saw the essence stream down the length and drip pitifully onto the floor below him. Grimmjow ignored his accomplishment of release and continued working on his own satisfaction as he drove Shiro's battered body into the incline of the wall behind him. But Shiro didn't mind. He was enveloped in a pleasure high, and the pain could always be sustained by a tool such as his worthless self. He had developed immunity used to it.

Muscles were flexing from the might of the taller man before him. Grimmjow was a heavy one at pushing and he packed in so much force that Shiro felt brittle in comparison to the toned solidity of Jaegerjaques. He was like a fragile, mentally shattered pestilence under the supreme density of this merciless rogue. The devil was far stronger than him and dangerously so. Sex like this was intensely exhausting for him. No human should have to endure this much. But being the spare toy that he was, there was no room for Shiro's refusal.

"Done," Grimmjow muttered, the only audible sound coming from this mouth so far that wasn't somehow contorted by alcoholic influence into a slur.  
And then the other filled him with his bodily liquid, the other male's juices warming the abused flesh of Shiro's rear as the one thrusting into him passed a tremor and then grunted loudly. Grimmjow then pulled out of him a second time, panting with worn out breaths.

When Grimmjow let go of him Shiro staggered and fought for balance. But he couldn't last. Even if his mind was headstrong his body certainly wasn't. The savage Grimmjow didn't ever go easy on the limits of his frame and he had no care for Shiro's stability or how much he could handle. So he whimpered and then fell, leaning against the wall for support but finding no comfort in its chilling brick surface. He was freezing. Battered. Left stained and bruised. This was the result of tonight's usage.

The other male - and amazingly, as Shiro could see he was clearly physically exhausted himself from that performance - was already attempting to drunkenly change back into his dressings. Grimmjow attached his shirt and did a messy job of it and then after many stumbles somehow managed to slip into his trousers. Huffing and the tousling of fabric in the tall male's hands could be heard.

Then before he knew it there was a stern fist in Shiro's hair and his ashen spikes were yanked on as he was pulled up, causing him to gasp and squirm from the torturous handling. "G-Grimm 's hurtin'! 'S hurtin'!" He screamed.

Words went ignored and Grimmjow seized him by the arm and hauled him up on his feet. However, he had seemed to take note of Shiro's harm, and he refrained from pulling further at his snow colored hair. But that didn't stop him from dragging Shiro off, the weaker male's feet trudging on the ground as he straddled the stones underfoot and was forcefully dressed by a drunk Grimmjow.

"Wha're ya doin'?" Shiro asked, having never been dressed by Grimmjow before like this.

"What the fuck does it look like? 'M clothin' ya 'course. Stay still," the words were snapped, almost growled out. "'M takin' ya to tonight's poker game."

"_P-Poker game_? But we're-"

"Shut it!" Came a fierce howl of a snarl, and Shiro was silenced by the fear inflicting height in Grimmjow's tone.

So Shiro allowed himself to be courteously dressed, garments applied again and the stains somehow not being outwardly noticeable on the material of his clothing. Grimmjow was rough with him and far from considerate of being kind as he swiftly wove the dressings over his form and masked the bruises and bite marks with fabric.

One perk to being this man's tool was that Grimmjow's criminal profits and vast wealth gained from his dishonest ways of earning his living was that Shiro was fitted in gorgeously expensive and self chosen clothes. He was given whatever objects he desired and never without shelter or food. However, the damage on his body and emotional stress that he withheld outweighed those foolish materialistic values. It was hell being stuck with this devilish Jaegerjaques, even yet still Shiro would not part from him.

No, Shirosaki was bound to this nightmarish devil. He was a puppet to this manipulative puppeteer and enslaved to him. Enshrined to him, even. There was no morals to him and he was a being of pure manifested cruelty and void of any known mercy or empathetic feelings, but even so there was something there. Something that roped Shiro to him and intertwined their lives. Even if he wanted to escape this heartless relationship then Grimmjow's possessiveness would never allow him to do it anyway.

And Shiro pondered to himself, now, of all moments; would he ever live to see the day that this killer would ever become a good man? Was he truly hollow inside or would there ever be a way to change him?

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Thank you for reading~! Will upload the next chapter as soon as I can.


	2. Bought Ink

**_Bleach © Tite Kubo_**

**Note: **Since it sometimes bothers me when I don't explain things, just let me put it out there. The language of Grimmjow and Shirosaki is purposefully distorted and cut off at times due to the depiction of their accents. Shiro will tend to shorten words that contain an apostrophe in particular. It's how this fic portrays their accents, so the minor adjustments to their speech are perfectly intentional.

**Warning**_**:**_ Graphic content upcoming in approaching chapters. This fic contains sexual references, violence, vulgar language and disturbing themes along with other such naughty things. Rated M for a solid reason.

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**.I.**

There was always a dank air about this room. Shiro had been here with Grimmjow many times before though, and he was accustomed to the distasteful smell that emitted from his surroundings. Everything was darkened and the windows were sheltered by blinds, the carpet was daily swept clean of any bloodshed from the beatings that went on here.

This was the headquarters for one of the gangs that Grimmjow worked with. Shiro was like a sort of prize for Jaegerjaques to show off, strung around everywhere with him and kept closely by his side. Despite his partner being an utter asshole of a man to him Shiro was always protected and Grimmjow stood guard by him like a soldier. Shirosaki was never touched by anyone and no others dare lay a finger on the trophy of Grimmjow Jaegerjaques.

A few people often commented on what he looked like, calling his sheet white skin unrealistic and his eyes unique. It did not serve as flattery but it glorified Shiro's appearance in a way. Some of the eccentric gangsters had developed a nickname for him, referring to him as the 'Porcelain Doll'. He was oddly reminiscent of the pale dolls that children sometimes had, carved from pot, porcelain ones. Apparently that was how the gang thought of him.

"Yer done," Grimmjow said to one of the other criminals, shoving a pouch of currency into his hands and sending him off to exit the room. He was the last customer for the day and Shiro guessed that he was either exchanging drugs or weaponry with Grimmjow, as often was the case. It was the only thing aside from women and alcohol that the devil would ever fork out money for.

Once the man had exited Grimmjow turned back at Shiro and stared at him with his casual frown. At first Shiro wondered whether he was going to launch a hit at him out of frustration or pin him against a wall or something of the kind, but he didn't. He simply fixated attentive cobalt hues on him, studying Shiro closely.

"Wha' is it?" The paler male asked.

There was no reply. Just a moment of silence. Then Grimmjow rushed forwards and clashed lips with his, devouring Shiro's ghostly shaded mouth and claiming it for a rough kiss as he peeked a tongue in and connected their lips in a hungry manner.

Shiro was obliged to go along. Obedience was his general approach to this sort of behavior. He kissed back and allowed his lips to mold against his, a cobalt tongue stroking the other's and flicking over the roof of his mouth with a delicate tenderness.

The domineering male grasped his waist and brought him close with one hand, cradling his side while his spare hand came upwards to caress the border of Shiro's jaw. It was an affectionate mannerism and not something that Shiro was normally used to so he juddered at the sensitive touch. But he adored this sudden kindness. It was extremely out of the ordinary, but nice.

The moment didn't last though and Grimmjow soon broke off the kiss to part for air, instead just holding his tool close and weaving tanned hands around the slender circumference of his waist. He held Shiro with an undeniable possessiveness and although he was a controlling male it felt considerably soothing to be brought against the tautness of his chest. In the safety of those arms. No matter how brutish he was.

"Why're ya bein' so affectionate all o' a sudden?" He asked Grimmjow, actually developing a dreadful uncertainty from such outward and considerate behavior for a change. It was something he realized that he had never witnessed before. Not since the start of their relationship in which Shiro had been fooled by Grimmjow's deceptive gentleness.

"Ain't I already affectionate?" He answered. Head was tilted minutely to the side, studying Shiro, intrigued by what he was saying.

"I-" Shiro stopped himself, being careful not to offend him for fear of gaining a hit in the face, "I don' know." Wait, that could insult. Shiro quickly added, "Yes, yes ya are."

"Then shut up and kiss me, asshole." There was that familiar sense of dominant and demanding tone again and Shiro's heart almost skipped a delicate beat when the beastly Grimmjow that he knew returned again.

With his master's permission Shiro leaned forwards, softly placing a caring kiss into the warmth of his neck and submissively starting to nuzzle at it and prick teeth in a teasing method at the skin. Kisses were applied to the other male's jawline and on the tight skin of his throat, until Shiro began to suck at the flesh and smooth his tongue with a daring delicacy over Grimmjow's neckline.

Satisfied by Shiro's actions, a resounding rumble like that of a purr began to rise in his chest and he smirked contently at his boyfriend. Shiro had pleased him. That was apparently very good.

However, Shiro didn't expect the sharp and challenging squeeze to his ass as Grimmjow handled his rear and nipped nails into it through the thin material of his skinnies to interject a painful pinch to Shiro's backside. This wasn't in a playful way that it was done either. Shiro yelped unexpectedly, and shuddered from the neglectful way in which his flesh was pierced by Grimmjow's dagger-ish nails.

"Che." Grimmjow shed half a laugh. "So damn innocent, as always."

There it was. The mockery and devout entertainment that Grimmjow derived from Shiro's surprise and pain. He was such a sadist, always messing around with Shiro and somehow finding ways to lower his guard so that he could do these hideously jumpy acts over and over again. Shiro should have known. The devil was only kissing him so that he could plant that assault on his rear.

Reassuringly, Grimmjow lowered his head and hovered his lips over his, the deceivingly heaven-bound scent of the predatory male washing over him as Shiro breathed it in. For a man as merciless as himself he radiated a wonderful smell, a minty sharpness that when Shiro inhaled it flooded him with an easing sensation. Strange how such a rogue could make him feel so at peace. However, that lustrous scent would always later be tarnished by the stench of drink.

Grimmjow's tongue licked at Shiro's lips and for a moment the smaller male questioned whether he would exploit another kiss again, but he didn't. He just stared at Shiro with an analytic perception and then flashed a white toothed grin at him. That same malicious grin iced with venomous deceit and un-quenchable lust which looked to undermine Shiro every time he was faced with it.

"Wha' ya gon' do for the day now?" Shiro asked him, shrinking slightly from nervousness under the intensity of that Joker-rivaling grin.

"'M done for the day, Shiro. We've got a full day to ourselves. I got a stash of shit comin' in tomorrow mornin' and a guy's ass to beat tonight, but today's all us."

Somehow Shiro hoped that such words wouldn't be the case. The more time Grimmjow had on his fearsome hands meant more roughing around for Shiro. More sex. More beating. More possible abuse and, shuddering at the thought, more unnecessary violence to watch and be roped into if they strayed across anyone that Grimmjow knew - the brute having a constant animosity with just about anyone that he met.

Tugging at Shiro's hand and then proceeding to lead him out of the gang's dark headquarters, Grimmjow led him away from the unsettling room and outside into the town of Karakura. They exited the building with a normality about them, as if they were an everyday happy couple, as if there was not the slightest dysfunctional aspect about either of their actual selves, when in fact everything was wrong with their deranged relationship.

As they entered the brightness of the daylight outside, Grimmjow began taking them towards the nearest store that provided a subtle stock of alcohol. Shiro was laced along as if he was bound by the wrist to the man that guided him and they passed various streets and roads as Jaegerjaques searched out his desired location.

Shiro timidly entered behind him into the doorway of the store. It was a local shop tucked away in a corner of Karakura but it had a decent reputation and likely had the stock that Grimmjow would be looking for.

The pale male knew his partner well enough by now to memorize every drink that he had during the day and night. He was a routine drunk, after all. Tequila and numerous liquor during evening hours, whisky at any time of the day - usually a single malt, one coffee at nine every morning, vodkas on a night and just about anything else for any other time. Sometimes, if Grimmjow was feeling particularly egotistical, he would function for sake or beer on an afternoon. God knows what else he consumed and had slipped into his drink whenever he ventured into a bar, however.

"Double shot," Grimmjow muttered over at the counter, obviously arguing with someone over something.

"But it was a single shot of that drink, right?"

"I said double," the tall male argued adamantly.

"Right. Of course, Grimmjow."

There was the shuffling of bottles over at the counter as Shiro lingered behind Grimmjow and waited for the purchase of drinks to commence and for Grimmjow to buy his whisky. The most common drink he ever bought within local stores during an afternoon like this would no doubt be whisky, Shiro guessed.  
And low and behold, the staff at the counter handed over two single malt whisky bottles to Grimmjow in exchange for a dabble of cash. The currency was passed over and then Jaegerjaques victoriously grasped the bottles in hand. A nod of strained decency was passed between them and then the customer turned and tagged Shiro along with him as they made their route back out of the corner store.

Whatever brand the other male had gotten didn't matter to Shiro. It didn't matter what kind of drink it inevitably was, really. Whatever substance that Grimmjow drank, so long as it was alcoholic, would ultimately lead to a drunken state. And his drunken states were when things started to turn drastic. His drunkenness was when the murders kick started and trouble would brew. It was when Shiro became endangered and was reduced to a mere plaything and there was loss of reasoning with the devilish brute. Last night's abuse and ruthless fucking followed by a poker game being one such example.

"Hey Shi," the other began.

"Wha'?"

"Fancy gettin' a tattoo?"

Probably not the most random thing to spill from this savage's mouth. He was an oddity among most, after all. Grimmjow did tend to come out with strange suggestions from time to time. Especially when it involved toying around with Shiro. However, Grimmjow didn't usually become random unless he was downing drink down his gullet or was under the heavy influence of some criminal substance. Yet today he wasn't on either of those things, and Shiro was being outright encouraged into getting a tattoo. Well this was a new one.

There was a pretending of an interested perk, though Shiro detested the thought of tainting his skin with the marking of ink on his pure pallor. But nonetheless he had to refrain from angering Grimmjow. Even in his sober condition he was still easily driven into violence or frightening tendencies.

"Why?" He questioned, a fake pinch of curiosity in his tone. Shiro prayed that Grimmjow wasn't about to share the idea of him staining his figure with some sort of tattoo dedicated to this monster of a man.

"'Cause there's one over the road," Grimmjow explained, nodding to a not-so-distant informal building across the expanse of road that they were so casually strolling by. He rattled the bottles in hand and fixed Shiro a very intense stare. Awaiting his response. "I wanna see ya get a tatt."

When Grimmjow said it there really was no protesting to the judgement that had been passed. But there was a brisk worry eating at Shiro, chewing at him with an unease at the thought of risking possibly unhygienic needles penetrating and permanently marking the purity of his unique skin tone. He was marked enough as it was from Grimmjow's bruises and abusive aggression and he didn't want more attention being drawn to his body when it was diseased enough as is by the devil that he was attached to. Nor did he want to have to face anyone later and report that the guy he was tailing around all the time had forced him into this situation and made him get inked by foul needles.

The perhaps only perk in this was that Shiro no longer had any family, no parents or siblings to gawk and yell at him for getting such an attribute. Grimmjow had taken him in ever since he was seventeen and sheltered Shiro for the last last three years due to his lack of family. Therefore there was the freedom of choice in the matter when there was no family to restrict him from gaining a tattoo, but then... there really wasn't a choice... considering any suggestion that Grimmjow made generally became a reality courtesy of his dominating need to make everything an actuality.

"Well?"

Shiro shrugged, knowing that he was going to regret going along with this. "'S a thought."

"'Course it is. Go get one," Grimmjow urged him, a nonchalant frown on his face as he blinked at Shiro ordinarily. Then the man crossed his arms, angling his head so that it protruded into Shiro's visage so it looked like he was right in his face. "Ya'd suit one. Get anythin' ya like. I'll handle the cash and ya can get it wherever ya want."

At least, from the sounds of it, Shiro had the freedom of choosing the design and location of this tattoo. The offer seemed valid and decent. But still, there must be catch, must there not? This was Grimmjow persuading him to do something after all. This roguish fellow was not one to be so kindly open and willing to deem him real freedom. Because with Grimmjow there was never usually any freedom. Shiro was held to him by the invisible chain of fate and caught by the ties of his relationship with the guy. Every small thing that he gifted Shiro with came at some sort of unintentional yet expected price.

"Anythin' I want? Tha' don' sound bad," Shiro contemplated, but there really wasn't any thinking going on at all. He had already made his decision and settled with it.

Jaegerjaques smoothed fingers down the extension of Shiro's arm and then interlocked his fingers with his, essentially hold hands. Holding hands like lovers do. Only, they weren't really lovers. Another false action which seemed affectionate but in all actuality was just another keen move made to entice and fake his false love for the younger male. But Shiro didn't mind that. He was used to it. He knew the deception of these minor actions and had learned to simply accept their falsehood in favor of not obtaining a broken neck if he somehow objected to any of it.

Then he started pulling Shiro along again, stringing him after himself across the road and dodging past the flurry of cars on the tarmac as their footsteps carried them over to the tattoo parlour looming on the opposite side. They walked in unison and Shiro's steps fell rhythmically in line with Grimmjow's, attempting to keep up with him and match his pace like a loyal tool of a partner should do. He couldn't help but feel half enslaved though as he was woven along after the other's steps.

"And what can I do for you?" Came a greeting from one of the tattooists, who had just approached them from the interior of the parlor.

"This guy's gettin' himself a tatt," Grimmjow announced. He spoke in an even tone to the other person as he addressed him, so unlike the polar opposites of voice that he harbored for Shiro. "Don't worry 'bout the cash. Jus' let him pick out somethin' for himself and I'll pay. Be gentle with him. It's his first time."

The tattooist nodded and absorbed every word that Grimmjow uttered, looking at the two of them as if Grimmjow was the parental figure and Shiro was a child undergoing a minor operation for the very first time.

Selecting himself a seat by the window of the tattooist store, he parted hands with Shiro and left him to organize himself to which Jaegerjaques then seated his person and by use of his teeth cleverly removed the cap from the whisky to begin eagerly supping it while he waited for the other male to attend his own purchase of a tattoo. Grimmjow secluded himself there, vigilantly keeping an eye over Shiro and the staff that chatted with him, eyes reminiscent of a predator eyeing its wandering prey as he examined them both as if the tattooist was some form of possible threat.

"I wan' a pale horse inked on my back," he told the man facing him. "I wan' tha horse to bear a crown tha' envelops its body. Tha crown's gon' be a dark bluish color."

At first the man seemed to find the immediate specifics odd, but nonetheless he gave Shiro a firm nod, hanging on every word and giving him a secure show of understanding. "That sounds like it will take a while. Are you comfortable with the amount of time this will take? Need anything particular to numb the pain? Allergies?"

Shiro shook his head decisively to all three of those questions. No, he just wished for this tattoo to be over and done with as hastily quick as possible. He was anxious to leave Grimmjow unattended and was worried that he would return to him in the middle of fucking some woman or beating up some innocent without Shiro there to calm him. Not to mention, he wasn't exactly looking forwards to the embellishment of pain that would be brought from the needles which would be administering to him the tattoo. He wanted all of this over with. Quickly and efficiently.

"Follow me then. We'll agree on a layout and run a test on the sensitivity of your skin. Then we'll get this inked on."

"Jus' try make this quick. 'S all."

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Thank you for reading. Reviews welcome. Hope you like.


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